Quirrell Drabbles & Short Fiction
by Jalen Strix
Summary: A collection of drabbles and short fiction centering on the enigmatic character of Quirinus Quirrell, inspired by the Hogwarts Is Home livejournal community and often involving horror and drama with a dash of humor. To be reorganized in chronological order as new chapters get posted.
1. Vision

**Vision**

A conversation between the Sorting Hat and Quirrell when Quirrell first arrives at Hogwarts.

* * *

I felt the brim of the Sorting Hat slip down over my eyes, mercifully blocking out the intimidating mass of the great hall.

_Quirinus Quirrell, what a curious, supple mind you have_, murmured the strangely creaky, resonant voice, _which would make you at home in Ravenclaw certainly._ _But such a need to prove your worth to the others that underestimate you._ It paused. _And quite the desire to be strong enough…enough for what, young Quirinus?_ _That ambition tastes of Slytherin, while Gryffindor could help you develop strength._

I swallowed, trembling slightly. "I just hate being called stupid," I mumbled. "I'm not stupid, I know I'm not. I can see magic. I just don't know how to tell anyone else about it. And I can't seem to do much of it…"

_You see things differently, in ways few others can. It can be a great gift, especially to one who seeks new knowledge. Hmmm,_ _but it seems to have come at a price…_

I felt a sudden prickling, as if deft fingers were plucking through my brain.

_Yes…your ability to see as you do has stymied some of the more typical pathways. But there's nothing here that can't be changed, not yet._

I waited, barely breathing.

_So I ask you this: Which do you want more – the ability to see what others cannot or the ability to be as good as everyone else at the usual things?_

I swallowed. _As good? Not better?_

_As good. Strong enough._

My heart pounded, as I whispered, "No. I want to see."

Approval radiated from the Hat as its voice rang out like a bell. "Ravenclaw!"


	2. Connections

A young Quirrell discovers a new use for a Muggle-cultivated plant.

**Connections**

* * *

"Daydreaming again, Quirrell? The Elixir won't make itself, now will it?" The disdain in Professor Slughorn's voice slapped at me.

I gulped, sputtering,"No, sir. Sorry, sir. It's just…" My words faltered as he breezed by me.

I gritted my teeth, sighing in frustration. I _had_ let my thoughts wander away from the instructions on how to brew the Elixir to Induce Euphoria because I'd been distracted by seeing the potion construct take shape. I knew no one else seemed able to see these things, and this one was such a pretty one – a spiked, fanning structure with edges like fireworks. It had looked a bit prickly, actually. The drinker would have an unpleasant, jittery edge underlying their euphoria, rather like ingesting too much caffeine. It needed softening, mellowing…something to smooth those prickly parts.

But what? I turned this over in my mind as I added the wormwood and began to stir counterclockwise…

Later that evening, a package arrived from my favorite grandmother. She had a soft spot for me, since I reminded her occasionally of my brilliant, eccentric grandfather.

_I found this vanilla orchid and thought of you, as you're so fond finicky things, Quirinushko. The flowers open only for one day to be pollinated, but their fruits are entirely worth the trouble. This one has a pod nearly ready for harvest. Enclosed is some of my apple cake that you so love, made with fresh vanilla bean extract from the parent of the plant I've sent you._

_Love,_

_Bubbe_

I tore eagerly into the package, and the smell of the apple cake wafted up, mellow and sweet.

I paused, struck by the softening aspect of the smell. Turning to the delicate plant accompanying the cake, I bent close to the dark fleshy pod, inhaling gently.

Oh. Oh yes. This would counter the prickly bits of the Elixir just perfectly, I'd bet. And then, oh yes, _then_ Professor Slughorn would certainly take proper notice of me.

I simply needed to wait for the pod to ripen fully, and I could try it out. I inhaled its rich scent again, savoring the varied subtlety of it. Yes, this would counteract those little crackles in the potion's shape quite well.

I smiled, and took a bite of apple cake.


	3. Fault Lines

**Fault Lines**

_Quirinus discovers a true countercurse to Sectumsempra during the First Wizarding War._

* * *

_Ah, that was it!_

The answer materialized before me in a beautiful epiphany, and a giddy rush of exultation bubbled through me - that vicious little Sectumsempra curse could be counteracted. There was a fault in the intricately woven spell construct with its beautifully acute angles...I could see it in my mind's eye, just _there_...and if you pressed it just so, the whole thing would collapse in on itself.

I let loose a small whoop of laughter. The Death Eaters had been wreaking brutal havoc with the thing, and now there would be a means to counteract it.

But how to translate that crucial action into something that could be enacted with will, word, and wand? There was a rise and fall to it, a song-like rhythm...it reminded me of something...

Yes, of course. The Vulnera Sanentur countercurse - it had that same almost Gregorian chanting structure. But...something about the words wasn't quite right. And the key of it was important to getting the precise twisting pressure on that construct fault. The utility of the countercurse would be considerably lessened unless it was in the right key.

I closed my eyes, clearing stray thoughts from my mind...

The answer surfaced, clear and bright as a bell: F minor modulating to G major, two times sung in F minor followed by once in G major. Chant the Vulnera Sanentur with all the nasal consonants denasalized and _yes_ \- the collapse would be instant. The Vuldera Sadedtur would completely neutralize Sectumsempra.

Joyous anticipation surging through me, I hurried off to tell someone who would matter.

* * *

Dumbledore smiled benignly from behind his desk. "Alastor, I think you should listen to what young Quirinus has to say. It should be quite a boon to your aurors."

Mad-Eye Moody swiveled his notorious eye to me. "Well, boy? Speak up. Haven't got all day."

I swallowed convulsively, trying to control my nerves. "Sectumsempra. I...I found a c-c-c-countercurse."

Moody's eyebrows shot up. "What is it? Be nice not to lose so many good people to that blasted thing."

I took a deep breath, trying to still my stutter. "Vuldera Saded-ded-dedtur."

Moody squinted at me. "Vulnera Sanentur? Already tried it. Doesn't work very well."

"No. Different pronunciation. Vuldera Sadedtur. And you have to d-d-do it three times. D-d-d-different keys. F m-m-minor the first two, G major the third. Very important to hit the construct fault at the r-r-r-right angle."

Moody turned back to Dumbledore, his brow furrowed skeptically. "You think this will work, Albus?"

"I believe it is worth seriously trying, Alastor. At the very least, casting the Vulnera Sanentur three times in quick succession is something any auror can be taught to do."

Moody nodded once. "And this business about keys and different words? Can't say it sounds solid. Never heard of a countercurse that cared about key." He snorted once thoughtfully. "Half our aurors can't carry a tune in a bucket, anyway."

Dumbledore steepled his hands and looked at me. "Perhaps it is something you can explain to the battle mediwizards, Quirinus. Would you be willing to try?"

I nodded rapidly, only too glad not to have to speak anymore just now. My insight would help the fight against Voldemort, and that knowledge curled inside me, hot and sweet.


	4. Excelsior

Prompt: Becoming a Master of your craft.

Summary: Quirrell decides that he needs more than a theoretical understanding of the Dark Arts to get what he truly wants.

**Excelsior**

* * *

Dumbledore's blue eyes didn't twinkle as he looked at me. "Your theoretical prowess is undoubtable, Quirinus. But theory alone is not a good way to start children off in Defence. They need hands-on training, especially when they're so young. You know this."

Bitterness rolled along my tongue and I looked down, attempting to school my voice somewhat. "Perhaps the seventh years, then? Surely they could benefit from the theoretical knowledge that underlies the practical usage." A sudden hope twinged in me. "Especially the ones going on to university, the ones who might do research in this area. I could do a special NEWT-level class…" My words dribbled off as I looked up at him.

His expression was grave and considering. "Perhaps. Your insights are subtle and demonstrably useful–"

I flushed with pleasure at this praise. He still remembered my utility during the war, providing training to the auror instructors in new ways to counteract curses.

"–but perhaps they are too subtle, even for seventh years. You'll recall that my translation of your insights to the auror instructors was necessary, and they were adults well-versed in the particular spells you talked about."

Impotence squirmed within me, my jaw clenching at this hard truth.

"Besides, you're such a jolly good Muggle Studies teacher. It's quite nice that you slip some advanced Muggle mathematics into the NEWT classes, even though it's not officially tested. I know you enjoy that area of Muggle knowledge – especially, what was it? Number theory and probability theory? A little esoteric for the students, but good practice for thinking deeply."

I nodded, my eyes cast down. The dismissal was clear. "Indeed. And yes, I do enjoy those subjects. Thank you for your time."

His voice was suffused with warmth and compassion. "Of course, Quirinus."

* * *

Back in my room later, I brooded over our exchange.

My grandfather was a famous mathematician in the Muggle world, a man by the name of Erdos. I got my theoretical skills from him, no doubt. Would that I had inherited his confidence and courage as well. He was an itinerant, vagabond genius – and he was in and out of my grandmother's life as quick as breath. I never met the man, though countless others had. He was adventurous, eccentric, and brilliant.

Well, inheriting one out of three isn't bad, I suppose.

I'd never actually told anyone, but I saw spell constructs in color, their structures beautifully illuminated with a sort of sparkling fire. It was so easy to know how to counteract them if you looked at them from the right angle. Just balance the colors, invert the structure, and presto! It dissolved to nothing. Of course, the trick was always how to translate that appropriately – which motions, which words, which strengths were required. And even if it required strengths I didn't have, at least I knew what was needed.

Of course, it almost _always_ required strengths I didn't have. Utterly galling. But it'd been that way for as long as I could remember, as my peers had never failed to remind me. _Little squirrel, practically a squib. Quirrell squirrel, Quirrell squirrel, little weakling Quirrell squirrel._

I took a steadying breath, riding through the familiar rage.

It was comforting in those moments to remember that there was a time not too long ago when none of the owners of those cruel voices were strong enough either. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named terrified us all, of course – but, at last, I wasn't the only one who was too weak. A great leveler, the Dark Lord was, whatever other horrors accompanied him. A great leveler, indeed. So much so that my theoretical skills were finally recognized and harnessed and profoundly appreciated.

I began the mental litany of curses I had developed countercurses for. _Full Body-Bind, Jelly-Fingers, Entrail-Expelling_, _Fiendfyre, Lycacomia, Sectumsempra…_

That last one had made Snape absolutely livid, of course. I smiled, remembering the scowl he wore when he first heard. His pet construct had been quite a beautiful thing – such lovely angles to it, and a gorgeous winding, intricate shape. But so easy to invert once you could really see it fully. Snape had incredible talent, it was true. I simply had more.

Even if I couldn't always express it very well.

Thankfully, Dumbledore had seen what I could do, and he had remembered, which was the only reason I had a post at Hogwarts at all. But memories seemed to fade so quickly…

Was it wrong to long for those past days just a little, despite their darkness? Respect was a heady thing, even (or especially) when it came in those small ambrosial sips. And the sips had grown smaller and smaller in the intervening years.

A thought curled in my mind like smoke, lithesome and sibilant.

If I knew how to counter the Unforgivables, that knowledge would be too valuable to ignore, too important to forget. If I truly understood that level of curse, I would know how to counteract it. Knowledge was power.

But how to go about it?

_Recent sources_, whispered that dangerous thread in my mind. Find the greatest user of those horrific curses the world had seen in centuries, who could produce the cleanest, most potent examples. There were whispers from Albania that the Dark Lord still lived. Of course, Grindelwald would have been a fine option too, if only he wasn't imprisoned in that damned impregnable Nurmengard. But the Dark Lord, Albania… perhaps… perhaps…

The thought hissed and sputtered, strangling me. No. That was madness, utter madness. There were very good reasons the known wizarding world had feared the Dark Lord. He was the closest thing we had seen to a vengeful god, and it had (rightly) terrified us. That level of power, concentrated in one individual unafraid to use it, was almost unthinkable.

But if he still lived, he'd surely be horribly weakened after that catastrophic, legendary failure with the Potter child. He would be so full of knowledge, brimming with it, but unable to act.

Just like me.

_Think on it, little squirrel._


	5. The Tree of Knowledge

Inspired by the HH-Sugarquill lj prompt of "Scents", this continues to look into the sequence of events that transpired between Quirrell and Voldemort.

**The Tree of Knowledge**

* * *

The nighttime forest sounds chittered around me, their eerie beauty a counterpoint to the ugly disappointment clenching my gut. _Why did I come to Albania? This is a fool's errand._

_But you're no fool, Quirinus, are you?_ _Quite the contrary, little squirrel._ The voice was sibilant, a gentle mental caress that was utterly alien.

My mind blanked in shock.

_Yes, I know your names, even the secret ones. I know so very many things. _There was a glittering precision to the words, a shine of intent. _I know you can see spell constructs, for instance. Interesting talent, that. I was something of a synaesthete myself, when it came to spellcraft._

A fiery curiosity loosened my thoughts enough to reply. _How so?_

_I could always smell them._ The words curled and twisted, burrowing deeper. _The clove and cinnamon musk of a Fiendfyre done just right, the smoky sweetness of a Morsmordre cast on a crisp night, like fresh hickory spiced with mint…_

A deep, delicious shudder rolled through me. _And others…other curses?_

Sinuous amusement slid along his voice. _Such as the Unforgivables, perhaps?_

I moistened my lips, anticipatory.

_Say it._

Confusion cracked through me. _Say what?_

_Say what it is you want to hear._

_Why?_

_Because I wish you to. That is my price._

I swallowed, fear and uncertainty squirming inside me. Something about this felt almost…indecent. Dangerous.

_Yes, little squirrel. If you want this knowledge, you must sully yourself to get it. Admit what it is that you want. And then I will tell you._

I closed my eyes, trying to slow my rapid breaths, to find some small legacy of my grandfather's rampant courage. _I want…please…_

_Yes?_ So patient now, as if he could wait forever.

_Please, tell me what the Unforgivable curses smell like when executed absolutely perfectly._

A current of sly satisfaction rolled through my mind, carrying the force of his presence, stronger then it had been before. _Indeed I shall. Which shall we begin with?_

I bit my lip. _Avada Kedavra._

His laughter crashed through me, a storm of approval, delight, and unmistakable viciousness. _Excellent choice, little squirrel._


	6. Perspective

**Perspective**

_Quirrell has a genre-savvy moment of lucidity as Voldemort leads him into temptation._

* * *

_I could show you precisely what a perfectly executed Avada Kedavra feels like, what it smells like, what it tastes like. Just let me in._

I paused, past readings affording me a startling clarity. "This is one of those moments, isn't it? Where the main character is about to do something wretchedly dangerous and stupid, and only his status as protagonist will somehow save him."

Wry consideration caressed my mind. _How do you know you're the protagonist?_

Incomprehension blossomed."Surely I'm the protagonist in my own story."

Soft, lacerating laughter now. _But how do you know whose story it is?_


	7. Transgressions

**Transgressions**

_The end of Quirrell's first session with Voldemort in the Albanian Forest._

* * *

_Will you try it now yourself?_ His words were a gentle coaxing, sultry as a summer wind.

The suggestion shocked me out of my pleasurable daze of contemplation. _What? I...no, I..._

_Surely performing it will be more informative than any mere description or observed demonstration._

Too true. I licked my lips, something very akin to lust darting through me at the possibility. _But I can't do such a thing..._

_Can't you? _Indulgent laughter ran underneath my skin like warm silk. _With my help, you can do anything you like. The question is will you?_

Temptation hung like a wild, sweet fruit in front of me. God, to execute that spell, so very reviled for its potency...I couldn't deny that I wanted to know exactly what that was like.

But what would I cast it on? What would die so that I might know this thing?

_That rabbit will do. You see it behind the brush there, trembling._

A pang of conscience surfaced. _But why should it die for me?_

_Consider the larger picture, Quirinus._ Cool fingers of reason stroked the line of my thoughts. _Nagini is hungry, so it will die anyway. It will suffer terror before its death if you don't cast the curse._

Dribbles of consideration rolled down my mind. Well, if it was going to die anyway, surely this way its death would be more useful...

_That's right_, scoffed a small voice that sounded rather like my favorite grandmother at her most disapproving, _rationalize it away. You've had a lot of practice at that lately, haven't you? _

A soothing wave of tranquility washed over me, dulling the pricks of guilt._ Come now, Quirinus - let me help you become the merciful angel of death._

The image, of course, appealed immensely to me. I felt my scruples dissolving in the wake of that tantalizing possibility.

_Say it, then._

I knew the ritual by now, and didn't hesitate, ignoring the sense of spiritual soil. _Help me cast the Avada Kedavra. Please. My lord._ The title was a tacked-on afterthought, but it seemed fitting from a supplicant. I had no illusions there.

Approval flicked like a serpent's tongue. _My pleasure, Quirinus._ _You must have the proper state of mind for it to work, of course._ His words were velvet-soft. _Allow me to guide you._

I nodded, hot anticipation buzzing through me now that the decision had been made.

There was a surge of malice and disdain, and an utter surety alien to my nature, glistening with the sheen of righteous anger.

And then it blossomed from my fingertips, jagged fractal curls of that particular shade of green darting like zephyrs to hit the hapless rabbit. The scents were just as he had described - a subtle sweetness of crystallized honey with notes of saffron and green tea and the sharp tang of salt, mixed with a certain metallic aroma, a wintry bite like strong peppermint. It smelled undeniably good to me. Incisive and unrepentant.

But that was nothing to the death moment.

I saw the twining curve of the curse enter the rabbit's body - a golden dragon fractal curve, in fact. (_With dimension phi, the golden ratio_, my muggle mathematical training supplied. Perhaps that explained the elegant efficiency of its execution.) The spell construct stretched within, a neverending curvelet entering every cell, filling it so very full of the most brilliant not-light (_the fire of hell obeys the golden ratio - who knew?_) before being swallowed into nothing. The energy core of every single cell was consumed utterly in that instant.

Breath-taking. The construct had been a work of diabolical art, without any flaw that I could see. There could be no recovery, no undoing. Perhaps a shield, some inversion that fit that fractal shape like a ying yang...but that would take more observation to uncover. Could I perform the curse again? It would have been a curiously painless experience for the victim most likely, as the soul was freed from its physical fetters all at once.

Angel of mercy, indeed.

The feeling of absolute power I had wielded overwhelmed me for a moment. It had been the literal power of life and death (_who shall live and who shall die, who by blessing and who by curse_), and its afterglow seemed to build rather than recede, a growing maelstrom inside me. My breath came faster, the sight seared in my mind's eye, the scent riding my nostrils. My fingers began to flex, to stretch and retract, stretch and retract, a burning cold filling my core with an unholy pleasure.

Surely this was the path to hell.

Rich laughter buffeted me, cold as the ocean deeps. _And are you enjoying it?_

God help me, I was.

_Do you wish more? To know more, to see more...to be more?_

His snake - _Nagini_ \- twined around my feet as I swayed slightly. The chill power was coiled inside me now - I could feel it, moving in time with Nagini's long body around me. Stretch and retract, stretch and retract. God help me..._yes_.

_As you wish._

My senses were overloaded in a bursting cascade of pleasure, ribbons of sensation rippling again and again in a curiously intensifying cycle that threatened consciousness.

_Rest now, Quirinushko. All the world will be ours when you awake._

I wondered idly if the cycling power inside me obeyed the golden ratio too, before I was overtaken by a blackness as deep and encompassing as the heart of winter.


	8. Slope

**Slope**

_Quirinus contemplates new changes in himself after his visit to Voldemort in the Albanian forest._

* * *

I came back to my lodgings, the scents and tastes of the Albanian forest clinging to me. Or really, I strode to my lodgings. Strutted, even.

Actually, to be perfectly accurate, I swaggered.

I had never before in my life known the utter confidence that would allow me to swagger naturally. It was a heady thing.

_Isn't it a good feeling, little squirrel?_

Yes, oh yes, it was. Like taking a deep gulp of air when I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath at all. It was a feeling I wanted to get used to. To think that Voldemort had known this supreme confidence all his life...

_This is how a Lord feels. And now you will know that feeling, too. Stop here, Quirinushko. _A shaded note of affection rode beneath the command, warming my blood with remembered intimacy.

_Look at the changes already wrought on you by our partnership._

Obediently, I stood in front of a long mirror in the inn's hallway, and looked. The man who looked back at me had a sharp vitality in his glance, the razor of his intelligence curving his smile, a whipcrack aura of danger coiling around him. This was a man who was powerful. A man to excite fear, to arouse passion. A man to walk softly around.

Oh God, _yes_. This was the way it was always meant to be.

_I agree completely._ Supple laughter slipped through my thoughts, amused, indulgent, the velvety pleasure of it building to spill out my mouth. There was a richness to its tone, a thrumming secret promise that earned me an appraising, interested gaze from a passing witch.

My eyes locked with hers for a moment as she smiled. She had the most extraordinary, sensuous mouth.

Iron will slammed down on my incipient desire. _All in good time. To the room now._

I nodded, letting her pass, and made my way to my room. A shiver of anticipation rode through me as my thoughts careened over new possibilities. So many things to explore, to plumb deeper with this new knowledge, now that I - _we_ \- had the strength to finally use it.

I inhaled sharply as an enormous green snake slipped in through the open window and circled my ankles with sinuous surrogate affection.

_You remember Nagini, of course._

Of course. She was obviously his familiar from the way she had interacted with us both in the forest during our experimentation. But there was a curious pattern in the braided connection sliding through her...a signature perhaps. Truthfully, I had never closely examined the bonds between wizards and their familiars.

A sudden unpalatable thought occurred to me. I looked at my own reflection in the room's mirror. Ah yes, there it was of course - that same curious pattern sliding beneath my skin.

He was riding us both, after all. With our permission.

_Yes, Quirinushko, with your permission._

The unvoiced intimation lingered like frost - _for now._

An uncontrolled shiver rippled through me, and I felt him savor its passage. With an effort of will long-practiced for times of emotional duress, I turned my thoughts to intellectual consideration. Why did Nagini and I both bear the familiar's bond? I had believed a wizard could have only one familiar at a time (and never mind the unsettling question of a human familiar). Perhaps because of Voldemort's current state, different rules applied?

_Different rules have always applied to me, Quirinushko. And now they will apply to us. Come - we've things to contemplate, you and I._


	9. And the Sins We Have Committed

**And the Sins We Have Committed**

_An episode at the beginning of Quirrell's association with Voldemort that underscores exactly what and whom Quirrell has acquiesced to._

* * *

I looked at the witch's still form on the bed with a sort of frozen fascination. I had at last been allowed to take her up on the invitation her smile in the inn's hallway had offered and it had been...an experience.

It turned out she had certain proclivities, and she was the one who had shown me how to cast the targeted Impediment jinx on the inspiratory muscles of her abdomen to stop breathing for short periods of time. The jinx had been like a switchblade, incisive and feathery, with spicy notes of clove and the mellow undertones of fresh-cut grass. I had been so distracted by the novel ability to smell the spell construct that I had almost missed it when she told me what the safe word was.

I could try to claim that I had misheard it, I suppose. That I didn't recognize it when she began to gasp it out, true fear beginning to replace the delicious sexual thrill of dangerous-but-not. But then, I don't know how I defend casting Langlock to prevent her from finishing the word. How I defend watching that sensuous mouth convulse to utter stillness beneath me. How I defend wanting to.

_You don't, Quirinushko. Why should you?_

I shuddered. Had it been my desire to see that, or his? Or even Nagini's? That dual familiar bond we shared with Voldemort was an unknown variable.

A small voice inside me whispered, _Does it really matter now? Look at the consequences of your action._

Voldemort's presence rose inside me like the tide, rippling over the stony blights of conscience. _You desired her. You took her. And now Nagini is hungry. It is a simple solution to this situation._

Horror and revulsion gagged me at the suggestion. _That's so terribly wrong._

_Wrong is such a subjective word._ Amused disdain held the bridles of logic. _It is wrong for Nagini to have no pleasure tonight, too, don't you think? It is wrong to waste what has been provided._

His will was an electric current running through me, and the muscles of my neck unfroze enough to nod once. I knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning. The small voice from before took on a subtle sneer. _Did you think it would be summer forever? Winter is coming, and these are its first frosty breaths._

_Poetic, Quirinus. And apt. I do so enjoy your mind._

A hot flood of pleasure slid through me at his compliment. I closed my eyes, ashamed suddenly of my response to recognition. So predictable and manipulable. So weak.

Visceral joy pierced my brooding thoughts, and my eyes snapped open. Nagini had begun her feast. A shock of sensation flooded me, the voluptuous slide of fresh, delicious meat down my throat, expanding, expanding...

I swallowed hard, grounding myself in my own perceptions, my own throat human and empty. Surely this was the work of that shared familiar bond. An icy curiosity overtook me then, as I probed that intriguing braid of magic inside me and felt its twin thrum in Nagini. Once again, I was plunged into the simple reptilian thrill of devouring my prey, still warm as it moved further inside me, filling the emptiness with a pure sensuality that was beyond satiation...

Well, winter was not without its chill pleasures, it seemed.

Approval like warm honey dripped through my mind. _Exactly._


	10. Encounters of the Close Kind

**Encounters of the Close Kind**

_Just before Quirrell's first meeting with Harry in the Leaky Cauldron._

* * *

_Quirinussssssssshko..._

The word caressed me awake, and I blinked slowly in the darkness. The gentle, affectionate tones of my favorite grandmother's voice slid into something deeper and sultry with promise. I recognized the layered shift immediately, squelching my reflexive twinge at the wrongness of it. I knew he took an almost scientific interest in manipulating my emotions.

_My lord?_

_There is something we need, and you will procure it._ The whipcrack of command ran through me like electricity, sparking along the braids of the familiar's bond.

_Of course. What is it?_

_The Philosopher's Stone._ An image swirled in my mind of a shrouded object in a vault deep underground, with watchful goblin eyes all around and the scorched scent of dragon fire.

I swallowed hard. _It's in Gringotts._

_That's correct. Vault 713. Hence the dragon potential._

_You want me to break into a lower vault of Gringotts._ The thought careened through my mind, clattering with incipient panic.

_Yes, Quirinus. And your trepidation is tiresome. This is an invigorating challenge, and you will rise to it with exquisite grace._ His voice pulled at my core, bending and shaping along the braided paths.

I blinked slowly. _Your faith in me is great._

_My faith in what we can do together is exactly as it should be. Flex your intellect, little squirrel, and let's see what we can create._ The words stroked through me with velvet precision, sharpening desire to a frenzy of focus. _Won't it be delightful to outwit them all?_

That it would. My muscles tensed low and tight with the potential of it.

His voice was a whisper of secrets as we crafted our plan, soft and flickering as a serpent's tongue.

After several hours, his approval licked through me. _It's a good plan, Quirinushko. Well-thought._

A responsive starburst of contracting sensation sang through me, pulling me taut and emptying me into unconsciousness.

* * *

The execution would, of course, involve very precise timing. I would wait in the Leaky Cauldron until circumstances seemed propitious - the place held a certain nostalgic warmth for me since I had been something of a regular before Albania.

The wholesomeness of it slapped me in the face when I walked in the door. Which, of course, was abstractly amusing, as wholesome wasn't the first word that came to mind when you entered the Leaky Cauldron. But its memories plucked at me as soon as I saw Tom, the barkeep. I had been so different then. Considerably purer of heart, as it were, and so much feebler.

_And you will return to that persona while you are here._ An iron vise clamped my thoughts. _Remember your diffidence, little squirrel._

_Of course._ I knew the necessity of it, though it was maddening to hide my new strength. This was a place where everyone knew my name, from Tom to Dedalus Diggle over there in the corner to flighty Doris Crockford. So close to Hogwarts, and especially here, I had been seen and known. I had to slip on the mask of what-was.

And so I hunched my shoulders and lowered my eyes, despising the confines of my remembered weakness.

_Now, now, Quirinus - console yourself. Think how much fun it will be to get away with everything we've planned. They'll never suspect you._

_If I play this part well._

_Which you will. Because you are strong. Now hunch a little more into your drink and twitch._

Humor from him was a rare enough occurrence that it caught me by surprise. I disguised my laughter as a cough just as Rubeus Hagrid walked in with a small boy in tow.

Hagrid was another who had known me, and I listened with half an ear to Tom's greeting.

And then to the revelation of Hagrid's young companion. _Harry Potter._

The sudden focus of Voldemort's interest was excruciating, a razor intensity that shredded my thoughts. The cough that choked me this time had no humor behind it.

_Go to him. Greet him. I wish to see him._

His will moved through me as if I were a puppet, stringing my spine straight. I relaxed into it - experience had shown that it didn't hurt as much if I let it flow through me instead of fighting. After a moment, I slumped down again and turned to face Hagrid and the boy.

_Remember your role. The half-giant is watching. And Quirinus,_ his voice flicked at me with a cool sharpness, _try not to overdo it this time._

I felt a twinge of disdain that was wholly my own. I had fooled Hagrid so easily upon my initial return. He was an obstacle so minor, it was barely worth reckoning.

I shuffled forward, tensing my right eye so that it would twitch in a thoroughly useful nervous tic, and prepared to encounter the Boy Wonder in the flesh.


	11. Piled Higher and Deeper

**Piled Higher and Deeper**

_Quirinus Quirrell during the Gringotts break-in. Written for the challenge prompt "Oh, the places you'll go!"._

* * *

I closed my eyes, trying not to lose focus. "A nice jaunt into the bowels of goblin hell, with an extra special bonus of a dragon or ten. Just the thing for a bit of relaxation before the term starts."

An inexorable tide of presence flooded my thoughts. _Do you have something you wish to say?_

"I think I just said it," I muttered. I couldn't help myself. Flippancy had its price in my current relationship, but breaking into Gringotts was, simply put, exciting to plan in the abstract and rather wretched in the actual doing. Adventures. Pah. I was sorted into Ravenclaw for a reason, damn it all.

_Stop grousing. It's tiresome. Think how few have been where we have._

"Fun and adventure in the arse of Gringotts. Oh yes, the places you go as a human familiar are just _delightful_. They should put it in all the brochures."

_Quirinus. _My name was a caress with the promise of unutterable pain behind it. _Shut. Up._

I clamped my mouth shut. Which left me breathing through my nose. Which was most unfortunate, given the gargantuan pile of fewmets I was currently pressed behind.

_A fine word, fewmets. Terribly underused._

I welcomed the distraction from the sensory pounding my olfactory system was giving me. _Not too often you have cause to talk about dragon droppings._

Amused laughter whispered against me, dry as autumn leaves. _Aren't you glad we're here then?_

_Oh yes. Quite. My lexicon can finally get that workout. Completely worthwhile._

_It's a good thing I enjoy your sense of humor, Quirinus._

I sighed softly, iron truth pressing into me. _It is indeed, my Lord._


	12. Descent

**Prompt: Ravenclaw characters**

**Featured: Quirinus Quirrell, Voldemort**

**Title: Descent**

* * *

I know I am falling into the abyss, dissolving away. His words were so tempting – offering me my heart's desire. Serpent words. (How could it have been anything else from him? But oh, how I _wanted_ what he offered. And I didn't think I cared about the price. I was so naive, so utterly stupid. I shame my house.)

_Give in_. The words are viscous, choking. They clamp around my wayward thoughts. _Your will is my will now. You will do as I command._

_No, please…not this_. My words are feeble, as I have always been. _This is not what I wanted_.

His laughter is like cold oil. _I know._ _But it is exactly what I promised, little squirrel._

The pain is excruciating in the back of my head, and the horror of possession fills me. I shiver as I feel my flesh twist and stretch in a vicious smile that I have no control over. The last of my resistance is withering as his presence snakes through me, malevolent and inexorable, a whirling fury of power even in this weakened state.

The word scuttles from my numbed lips, tasting of iron and ashes. _Master._


	13. The View From Here

**The View from Here**

_The immediate aftermath of Voldemort's possession of Quirinus Quirrell._

_Author's note: This may or may not have been inspired by certain aspects of A Very Potter Musical. Just sayin'._

* * *

I felt what had happened in a debilitating instant, the grating, patchwork wrongness of it. I recovered myself fairly quickly, however. Practice makes perfect, they say. And this was a grotesque little puzzle to fling my attention at.

I needed to understand how much of this was expected, to know how far past the bleeding edge of dark magic experimentation we had just gone. But how to put this delicately... "Master, this seems rather...inconvenient for both of us."

"It might be."

The strangeness of my scalp skin moving when I did not move it is not to be believed, let alone the feel of my breath being redirected to the back of my head. My autonomic nervous system was having quiet hysterics. The voice, though, it was the familiar one, with a subtle resonance that drew the ear. Except, if my ear drew any nearer to it, it'd be _in_ it, at this point. "And, forgive me, but is this what you intended?"

Ire and a razor hint of chagrine flared. "New magics are often unpredictable, Quirinus."

Right, then. _Off the bloody cliff of dark magic repercussions._

"I can still hear your thoughts, little squirrel. Impertinence doesn't suit you."

I closed my eyes, leashing the spasms of my parasympathetic nervous system. The basics, then. "Do you need to breathe?"

"No. We share your lungs, and I can use your breath to speak."

He could, indeed. I failed to suppress a shudder. My sympathetic nervous system was also being commandeered - or perhaps that was my own revulsion shining through, and never mind the other potential causes of goose flesh. Not worth contemplating - There Be Dragons. Or serpents.

I swallowed, casting around for inspiration. My eye fell on a swath of purple cloth. It was a memento from a woman in Albania, the first one I had dallied with after meeting Him. "Could you stand to be covered up, my lord? Turbans are unusual, but not unheard of. And I _have_ been away, after all." _Off to see the bloody world_, I thought sourly.

Rippling laughter from the back of my head moved through me, originating and penetrating. _Well, it's a damned sight better than your backside, which is what I see at the moment._

I choked. Some thoughts should not be pursued. _The turban, then?_

_That would be best._


	14. Simple Requests

**Simple Requests**

_Quirinus and Voldemort, just after Voldemort's possession of Quirinus. Written for the drabble prompt "Why should I worry?"._

* * *

_Have a little faith, Quirinus._

A half-hysterical giggle escaped me. "Why? You didn't, master. That's why we're...as we currently are."

Supreme confidence snapped like a whip. "Of the two of us, who is more worth having faith in?"

The redirection of my breath to the back of my head was more familiar now, but it still made me light-headed. I blinked hard, struggling to clear my vision. "I can't keep passing out like this."

"Then don't."

I sighed. "Master, it's called an involuntary nervous system response for a reason."

"My dear Quirinus, we specialize in the impossible. Make it voluntary."


	15. Negotiations

**Negotiations**

_The first night after Quirinus's possession presents a new challenge. Written for the prompt "Part of Your World"._

* * *

_Quirinus._

My eyes snapped open.

_What are you doing?_

I blinked blearily. _Going to sleep, master. Is something wrong?_

_Think, little squirrel. Where is your head?_

It took me a moment to realize the question wasn't metaphorical. I sat up abruptly, still groggy from the aftereffects of passing out several times earlier. _My apologies. I suppose it isn't pleasant to have your nose and mouth mashed into a pillow._

"Indeed."

The breath rushing to the back of my head made my vision swim again. I swayed on the bed.

_Don't pass out, Quirinus. You'd only stifle me yet again in this position._

Giddiness overwhelmed my better judgment. _But you don't need to breathe, master. How could you be stifled? My lungs breathe for us both-_-

Rage roared through me, making my diaphragm spasm and choking my words off.

_Master...please. Isn't this counterproductive?_ My vision was narrowing to a tunnel as I struggled to inhale.

The rage clicked off like a switch, replaced by dry amusement. _Yes, it is._

I took a gasping breath with suddenly unimpeded lungs, fighting to remain upright. _I need sleep._

_I don't._ His irritation rippled under my skin.

I blinked hard, my thoughts scrambling for purchase. _The effects of sleep deprivation on the body aren't pretty, master. Detrimental to us both at this point._

His consideration hummed through us. _Your point is made, Quirinus. You will sleep with your head turned to the side._

_Done._ I dropped back down, curled on my side, exhaustion overtaking me after my adrenaline rush.

_And little squirrel?_

_Yes?_

"Don't toss and turn."

The breath rushing to the back of my head caused a parasympathetic nervous response that shut my consciousness off like a light.

* * *

_Wake up, Quirinus._

Consciousness came like a whipcrack. _Master?_

_You were snoring._

_I...what? I don't snore._

_And I tell you that you do._

Logic flowed sluggishly. _It must be the new sleeping position._ I paused, considering what I knew about the mechanics of snoring. _Could you redirect my breath while I sleep?_

I felt him raise a sardonic eyebrow. _Which I do by speaking. Shall I carry on a monologue while you sleep? Nagini might be mildly entertained._

I repressed a tingle of shared sensation, but couldn't stop an errant thought. _Er, what _**_have_**_ you been doing while I sleep?_

_Being deafened primarily._

Embarrassment prickled at me. _Don't you hear through my ears at this point, master? I can't hear myself snore._

_If you were conscious, you'd be deafened as well._

Now, _that_ was fascinating. The implications for the role of shifting consciousness in lower-level perception...though I suppose our situation was rather unique, and unlikely to be replicable. You just didn't find two beings sharing neurological structures for very long. Or at least none that would admit to it.

_Such a nimble mind. I do enjoy that about you, Quirinus._ His pleasure rushed through me in pulsing waves. _You wouldn't believe half the things I've learned about consciousness, shared and otherwise._

Utterly tantalizing. I took a quick breath. _Try me, master. _

_Later, eager squirrel. This body needs sleep. Without orchestral accompaniment._

_Did you have something in mind?_

_I did, in fact._

A thrumming call to Nagini resonated through my brain and bones. The familiar bond we shared afforded me sudden, dual perception of slithering along the floor even as I watched from my bed. That colliding visual was enough to overwhelm the sensation of Nagini coiling around my torso.

_I'm sure you'll enjoy your new bedtime companion._

I strained to take a deep breath and failed. _How will this help, master?_

_If you start snoring again, she'll jostle you._

_By throttling me?_

_Think of it as a friendly embrace._

I managed an unhurried breath, and then another. I was nothing if not adaptable at this point. _Won't this be somewhat conspicuous if someone ever comes into my chamber while I'm asleep?_

_In a way that my visage in the back of your head wouldn't be?_

It was an excellent point. _I'll make sure the locking wards are strengthened on the entrance. And the blanket covers me_.

_Indeed. Now sleep. I can feel the deterioration of your conscious thoughts already._

And so, with Nagini coiled around me like a muscular security blanket, I dropped back into oblivion.


	16. The Night Side

**The Night Side**

Summary: Voldemort first tells Quirrell what he must do to keep them both alive.

* * *

_Quirinushko...Quirinussssssssssshko..._

The pet name floated softly in my mind, a slight hissing marring the gentle tone. I twitched at this disparity, my eyes creaking open in the dark. The phantom scent of apple cake wrapped around me, my favorite grandmother's voice sliding into something crueler and far more intimate.

"Please," I whispered. "Please don't."

_I find emotional triggers so effective, little squirrel._

My eyes prickled before I could stop them, the plaintive thought trickling out. _Why do you twist everything?_

Amused satisfaction flicked through my mind, familiar as a whip. _Because I can. And you have such extraordinary, intense feelings. I enjoy them._

I shivered, feeling naked.

_Come now, we have no secrets between us._ His pleasure at my discomfiture ran through me, sonorous and smelling of well-worked leather. Abruptly, it hardened, becoming tinged with cold iron. _But to business now, given your continued failure to obtain what we need._

I shivered now for a different reason, and felt His amusement rippling through me again.

_I have a stopgap measure for us until you succeed._

An image of a unicorn flashed in my mind.

_Adult, approximately 15 hands high, horn approximately 30cm long_, catalogued the clinical part of me. _ And what-_

But suddenly I knew precisely what He wished me to do. _No. No, I can't._

_And why, pray tell, is that?_

My breath hitched. _It is wrong, so very wrong._

_Haven't we discussed that useless word enough, little squirrel? Must we do so again? So tedious...so boooooring..._ That dangerous, singsong tone was eloquent of warning.

_But...but..._

His edged laughter coiled through me, sinuous and muscular. _That word is a distinction imposed by the weak. There is only what can be done and what cannot be done. This can be done, and you will do it._

A whimper escaped me, and suddenly my senses were flooded with His wrath. An unholy roar shattered my ears, and my flesh was pierced by bitter cold, my eyes blinded by rapid starbursts in colors not meant for human sight, my nose and mouth assaulted by the stench of decomposition. An agonized keening provided a delicate, wrenching harmony beneath the storm, and I realized I was the one making it. _Must not pass out..._

All was suddenly still and quiet. _No, can't have that, can we? We have work to do, Quirinushko._

I gasped into the silence, flayed by the stark contrast. _Please..._

_Yes?_ The tone was magnanimous now, with a deceptive sheen of leniency.

_Please, not that name. I will do as you wish. But please don't use that name._

_Of course you will do as I wish. And I'll call you exactly what you need to be called._

Wetness stained my cheeks, but I held my tongue. No good would come of further protest.

_Exactly so. Now come, little squirrel._ The words whispered through me, a velvet caress smoothing away bloodied conscience and barbed recrimination. _We have work to do tonight._

* * *

I crouched in the living darkness of the Forbidden Forest, turning the task over in my mind. The first part was likely to be the trickiest as it relied on a melding of our respective abilities, and a rather clever bit of sympathetic magic I had come up with.

A tendril of pride twined through me. It was His affinity for creatures at the extremes of the moral spectrum we would be amplifying, true, but it was my wand with its core of unicorn hair that would turn that attraction to the light side once we cast the adapted Entrancing charm.

_The light side - how melodramatic of you, Quirinus._

Irreverence licked at me. _You disapprove?_

_No. But I prefer to call it something else._

_Oh?_

_The terribly boring side._

My lips twitched at this. _Ah, yes. So, it's the terribly boring side we'll be amplifying, courtesy of my wand then._

His amusement flowed through me like spiced wine, fortifying and sweet. _Precisely. Now then..._

I stilled my thoughts as I began the mental construction of the charm, preparing for a non-verbal execution. With His strength thrusting through me, I forged the burning kernel, linking it to the heart of my wand. It expanded beautifully beneath my mental touch like blown glass, forming a curving tunnel, a brilliant cornucopia stretching out into the night. So easy, so laughably easy to create this celestial summoning with its inky core like spider webs and glistening scales, smelling of summer rain and peppermint and musky vanilla.

I sighed with the wicked pleasure of it, and waited. It didn't take long at all for a gorgeous beast to answer the call. White of skin, silver of horn, and gold of mane and hoof, it had an unearthly, storybook perfection to it. And it wandered blithely into our trap.

The cursed barrier sprang up, slick and impenetrable, with its distinctive bitter almond scent. The unicorn screamed in fear and anger, ramming the enclosure.

I watched its struggles. _Poor beast. Only those marked by the Lord can pass through His barrier._

Disdain snapped along my skin. _Pity is a weakness, Quirinus. And it costs time we don't have. That cry carried._

_I know. It's just... so ferociously beautiful. Such a tragic waste._

_I'll show you ferocious beauty, little squirrel._

Power whirled through me, a maelstrom cold as ocean deeps, and the petrification curse flowed from my mind with voluptuous grace. And it was, indeed, beautiful - a jagged fractal current with the weight of granite, smelling of nutmeg and larkspur, delivering a perfect rigor mortis to our victim.

With intoxicating precision and purpose, I slipped through the barrier and lifted my wand to begin the slicing motions of Sectumsempra. It was a dexterous and supple thing, the elegant movements of my hand echoed and amplified by the curving structure of the spell into surgical carvings along the pearly white skin. The blood flowed, rich and dark and sweet, its potent scent mingling with the citrus, ginger, and cayenne of the Sectumsempra.

This was ferocious beauty, it was undeniable.

_I'm glad we agree. I've always thought so._

I blinked, staring at the prone and piteous form in front of me, the rush of power bleeding away, leaving me hollow. _My god._

_Yes?_

But I had no words for the brutal savagery in front of me. I was frozen, as if I were the victim of petrification rather than part of its vile source.

_Now, now, there's no need for such judgment. Vile is as vile does, Quirinushko._

I flinched at the intimacy of the name, its sensual undertones ripping through me as viciously as Sectumsempra.

A sigh of pleasure whispered along my skin. _Such extraordinary emotions. Empathy is so interesting. Debilitating, however. And we don't have the time tonight to explore it further. Not here. Now is the time for action, Quirinushko. Draw near, and drink for us both._

Abject shame crippled my steps. _I...I..._

_Come now, the deed is done. Would you waste this death? We'll have to find another tonight if you do._

Horror plucked along my bones. _No, please...not another. I couldn't bear it._

_Give yourself credit, little squirrel. You could and you would. And in fact, you will until you procure the Stone for us._

I shivered, the horror settling into my chest, heavy with inevitability.

_But for tonight, Quirinushko, simply bend and drink._ The words were coaxing and gentle as a siren's song, beckoning me to obey .

With my breath heaving silently and my eyes burning with tears, I did.


	17. A Lower Deep

**A Lower Deep**

(Another snapshot of Quirinus and Voldemort)

* * *

I smell it with the heightened senses my Master has given me: innocence and power. Such a precious thing, a unicorn.

_What runs in its veins is more precious still. Move._

I shudder slightly, a vestige of myself lamenting the brutal destruction of this creature. But my limbs move inexorably towards it, floating on the seductive thrall of His will.

That same vestige wails silently, a lost melody in the symphonic tyranny of His power.

The mangled body is piteous, still shimmering in this wild, lonesome place - a light against the darkness even in death. It is this light my Master needs me to take for him, for us both now. The golden essence pools in the shadows and I bend (forever breaking, forever bowing) to drink.

A sudden memory cracks through me of the curse that afflicts those who drink unicorn blood. It was never discovered whether it was the killing of the unicorn that truly caused the curse, or the drinking itself. No one had to date drunk unicorn blood freely given.

_Why ask for what you can take, little squirrel? I never have._The casual cruelty of His voice lacerates me, even as its familiar, velvet tones rub along my thoughts. _Drink_.

And as I feel the liquid drip down my throat like honey, still hot with fading life, that feeble vestige of myself knows (again, again) that I am damned beyond any reckoning.


	18. Better Living Through Chemistry

**Better Living Through Chemistry**

_Quirrell encounters some unexpected aftereffects of drinking unicorn blood. Written for the challenge "Tickled Pink"._

* * *

I lifted my head from the corpse.

The silky laughter that ran through my thoughts was...odd. It took me a moment to capture the flavor of it, rolling and gleeful as it was. I blinked hard with the jarring unfamiliarity of it and the sudden wash of accompanying images.

Truly, Dark Lords should not be gleeful. Their laughter should not roll. And they should not - _should not_ \- flood their minions' minds with sparkling dancing unicorns. _Pink_ sparkling dancing unicorns.

_Oh? And why is that, Quirinus?_

_It bodes ill for their minions_, I snapped wearily, before I could think. _Inevitably._

_But you're such a commendable minion, aren't you? _His voice twined through my thoughts, bubbling and spinning. _Drinking unicorn blood when I command you._

A shudder rippled through me at the memory of what we...what I...had done just moments earlier. I swallowed. _And that makes you gleeful and inclined towards images of pink sparkling dancing unicorns?_

_That, and the unicorn blood we now have in our system. It's quite...delightful. I feel inspired by our success._

_With only the slight downside of being irrevocably cursed._ The thought was sour.

_Bah._ I felt the exuberant mental flourish and watched Nagini coil ecstatically at my feet. _I was a wandering insubstantial soul shard for a decade. Cursed is a step up, Quirinus. You just have to learn to live a little._

I snorted. _Live a little? Surely. Because being your human familiar, living horcrux, and commendable commandable minion who sports your visage on the back of my head is just so _**_boring_**_. What I need is a bit more excitement in my life._

_Tsk, sarcasm does not become you, sweet squirrel._

I harumphed, feeling far too bold. _You liked my wit well enough earlier tonight._

_I enjoy many things about you._ His pronouncement ended on a high, giddy note that held for three full seconds.

If he started singing, I didn't know what I'd do. Perhaps join in.

I blinked hard, careful not to shake my head. The unicorn blood was clearly starting to affect me as well. Bursting into song in the middle of the Forbidden Forest while hovering over the drained corpse of a unicorn was, shall we say, unwise.

Nagini began to hiss in a rhythmic manner with the barest hint of pitch. I glanced down at her, watching her sway in time to an oddly familiar tune. After a moment, I placed it as _I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General_ from _The Pirates of Penzance._

I stared for several heartbeats, while the Dark Lord's voice held another resonant whole note out in my mind.

There are some points when you must simply accept your circumstances.

I picked myself up and began to jauntily stride back home through the looming blackness of the forest, humming in time with Nagini. _I am the very model of Lord Vol-de-mo-ort's mi-ni-on, Of this there can be no honest di-sse-en-ting o-pi-ni-on..._

* * *

_Author's Note: If you haven't ever heard I Am The Very Model of a Modern Major-General, I do highly recommend hunting up a youtube video of it. The one whose id is watch?v=Z2OcbeGqbpU is an excellent example._


	19. Bad Fish

**Bad Fish**

_Quirinus Quirrell experiences the continuing unexpected after-effects of drinking unicorn blood for the first time. Written for the prompt "one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish."_

* * *

I lay back on the bed, my head turned sharply to the right in the way I had come to learn was best for both me and the Dark Lord. I blinked slowly as Nagini twined around both my torso and my right arm, her considerable tongue lolling in a decidedly unreptilian fashion. Fish danced improbably in my mind's eye.

Unicorn blood and its untold euphoric properties. I'd say _never again_ but-

"That would be a statistic." The voice slid luxuriously from the back of my head in the precise articulation of the very, very drunk.

My sympathetic nervous system managed not to have a hysterical spasm for once as my thoughts twirled around the odd words. Ah. Got it. "As in lies, damned lies, and?"

"Quite."

"I didn't know you knew that quote."

"Recently acquired." One of the dancing fish sprouted an abacus while two others scribbled on a chalkboard. "Your subconscious is a positive treasure trove when you sleep, Quirinus."

"Mmmm." I watched as Nagini blinked one eye slowly at me, and then the other, struggling to focus. That made three of us. And those ridiculous fish were still there, a red one and a blue one and a black one, calculating God knows what with their itty bitty fins. Another quote burbled through my thoughts and I had neither the will nor the inclination to stop it. "One fishhhhh," I said with liquid slowness, "two fishhhh." My lips struggled to wrap appropriately around the consonants. "Rrrred fishhhh. Buh-luuuuue fishhhhhh."

I felt the back of my scalp rumple in thought, brows knitting together. And then there was a sudden whirlwind _rummaging_, as if someone were whipping through the drawers of my mind and dumping them all out at once.

My consciousness gave up abruptly at that point.

* * *

When I woke up who knows how long later, the statistical fish were still doing their mathematical manipulations in my mind's eye.

Nagini gave my cheek one long, lazy lick.

_Ah, you're back. _There was a definite impatience, fizzing and stirring.

_Mmm. My sympathetic nervous system thanks you for not speaking aloud, my Lord. _

_Can't lose you again just yet. I found your little fish quote._

_Mmmhmm? One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish? _

_Black fish, blue fish, old fish, new fish._

I felt my lips stretch into a fond smile. I loved Seuss. One of the statistical fish gained a jaunty top hat. _Some are red and some are blue._

I felt an answering smile on the back of my head. _Some are old and some are new._

_Some are sad and some are glad._

Nagini tilted her head so our eyes were parallel. _And some are very, very bad._

I blinked rapidly out of my Seuss-induced reverie. That was the first time I'd ever heard Nagini's thoughts articulated in human words. I tried to follow the thought trail that unfurled from that realization, but got waylaid by dancing statistical fish dressed as highwaymen.

_Quirinus, _said the honeyed voice that strung me up like a puppet, _we are very, very bad fish._

Nagini and I were nodding in solemn synchrony, the luminous signature of being a wizard's familiar crackling beneath both our skins. _Very, very bad indeed._


	20. Putting Our Heads Together

**Putting Our Heads Together**

_Quirinus, Nagini, and Voldemort wake up after their first unicorn blood drinking bout. Written for the prompt "A place to rest my head"._

* * *

"Oh. My. God." The words slipped from me in blurred and bleary agony. Firewhisky had absolutely nothing on unicorn blood when it came to hangovers. Perhaps this was why drinking unicorn blood was said to be cursed.

Nagini blinked open a single eye, shuddered in sympathy, and closed it.

I slid a finger against her scales. She utterly failed to move. _Touch me again and lose the finger, Quirinus._

Hearing her thoughts articulated took me by surprise, though I faintly recalled her doing so right before we collectively passed out. Interesting side effect. _Apologies, Nagini. _

She didn't bother to respond.

The Dark Lord, however, did. _Always using that head of yours, Quirinus. _

I blinked. _Are you feeling this misery too, my Lord?_

_We do share a body. Speaking of, turn your head._

A jolt ran through me as I realized I was lying flat on my back, which left his face mashed into the pillow. Historically, this situation didn't end well for me. I abruptly turned my head to the right with an amount of effort that was not to be believed. _My most sincere and humble apologies, my Lord. _

I felt him close his eyes against the sudden light. _Consider yourself duly chastised. We have more important matters to deal with._

My insides attempted a half-hearted roil of trepidation. _We do?_

_This hangover is insupportable. Thoughts for dealing with it?_

Keeping my eyes firmly closed, I began pondering. _If it were something that caused chains of physical reactions like a poison, a bezoar would do. But this feels more like...like..._I sifted through gossamer memories haphazardly.

_What are we looking for? _He twirled deft fingers through my memories as I fought to stay conscious against the sudden upheaval in my hippocampus.

_Withdrawal_, I managed.

With a magician's grace, he plucked the muggle text I had once read about cocaine withdrawal.

I sighed with relief. Dopamine depletion, that was it. _We need something that stimulates dopamine absorption. A Grand Pepperup Potion would likely do it, but the Elixir to Induce Euphoria would be better._

There was a slight pause. _I'm coming to appreciate your knowledge of muggle studies._

_I live to serve, my Lord._

_So you do, my boy. _

_And I believe Pomfrey keeps a supply of Grand Pepperup handy. Should be easy enough to obtain some, and brew the Euphoria elixir for next time._

_Excellent. Make it so._

_Certainly. Just as soon as I can stand upright._

_Now, Quirinus._

_My Lord, you know what state we're in._

_And it won't get any better lying here._

_Actually, it might. The dopamine absorption may pick back up soon._

_Might and may aren't good enough. We're on borrowed time as it is. Get up or I'll have to inspire you to get up._

I got up and began stumbling towards the hospital wing.

Nagini's smug thoughts followed me out the door. She didn't have to move a single coil.

_That's right - laugh it up, snake._

_I live to serve, boy._


	21. Who's Telling?

**Who's Telling?**

_Quirrell, Voldemort, and Nagini commiserate on Valentine's Day at Hogwarts. Written for the prompt "Rose Red"._

* * *

The little fluttering red rose charms were what finally did it. After the third one alighted gently on my fingertips with the delicate grace of a thousand fairies as I tried to eat my dinner, both I and my Lord were in strict agreement.

_Valentine's Day. Pah. _

It was an insipid parody of love and for whatever reason, it offended me more than usual, like pink manicured fingernails on a chalkboard. I stood up to escape the omnipresent harp and birdsong burbling through the Great Hall. Two more rose charms attempted to assault me with their sweetly buzzing inanity and I flicked a wordless Finite at them, redolent of fresh springs as it splashed across the shining web of the charms. The roses thumped to the ground with a most satisfying splat.

There were definitely perks to being my Lord's human familiar.

I caught Snape glancing at me as I walked out. He'd seen those two charms shut down without a wand, damn the man. Time to put on a little show again. I hunched and stumbled past him, muttering, "At least the student ch-ch-charms seem to be r-r-running out of p-p-ower."

Snape's eyes glittered at me with their usual mixture of suspicion and condescension before finally dismissing me.

My whole body was still for an endless heartbeat.

My Lord's presence caressed through me. _Oh, little squirrel, such violent hatred you have for that man._ _It's downright heady. _

_Glad you're enjoying it, my Lord. _I did my best not to stomp audibly to my quarters. By the time I opened the door, Nagini was waiting and my Lord's laughter was bounding through my bones like liquid moonlight.

I managed a good harumph. _I'll have you know you're both ruining my sulk. It's damnably hard to feel put out when your Lord's mirth is flooding you and your fellow familiar is curling around your feet like a cat._

Nagini was decidedly unapologetic. _Sit down. I'll curl on your lap._

_You just want me because I'm warm from dinner and stomping._

_Yes. And?_

My Lord's voice strummed along my spine. _She has a point, Quirinus. Besides, I could do with this turban off my face. Sit down. Put your feet up. Have a glass of wine for us all._

_You're just saying that because you like the rosé I picked up last time._

_Yes. And? _

I sighed, sat down, and poured us all a glass of the rosé. Nagini was a comforting coiled weight against me as I unwound the turban and raised my glass. _Here's to us and our dastardly plots. May evil triumph despite all the stories._

My Lord's laughter sank into me like warm honey. _You've just been reading the wrong stories, Quirinus. Trust me._

I shrugged. _What choice have I got?_

_None whatsoever. Fortunately, it will all work out._

_How do you know?_

_I've read the right stories._

I closed my eyes. _Some day, I need to read some of these stories of yours._

_My lovely squirrel, they're simply everywhere._

My eyebrows rose of their own accord. _Oh?_

_We call it history. You shouldn't let Binns' soporific instruction destroy your willingness to tap that treasure trove._

At that moment, some of my Lord's omnipresent confidence began to infiltrate me. Not as a mantle I borrowed on occasion, but something of my very own. A kernel of faith, heaven help me.

I blamed the unicorn blood. This was the true curse, this sudden blossom of hope.

_The right stories make all the difference, Quirinus. Winners are always brave, their deeds noble, their suffering part of the adventure on the way to glory. Perspective is everything._

_And the winners direct the storytellers?_

_Precisely. _

_But surely no one has gone as far as we have. Not like this. _I gestured helplessly at my head, at Nagini slumbering in my lap.

His amusement wrapped me as snugly as a fur cloak. _You really need to read more ancient history, Quirinus. Have some more wine._


	22. Just So

**Just So**

_Voldemort encourages Quirrell to be proactive about Harry at Harry's first Quidditch match. Written for the prompt "Broom"._

* * *

"The position of Seeker is quite precarious, Quirinus." My Lord's voice whispered out the back of my head, chorded with command and expectation.

I considered my tea as Nagini curled in my lap and draped herself over my torso, gluttonously soaking up my body heat.

_Keep that tea coming. I can feel the warmth in your stomach._

I'd ceased being surprised by her directness and dutifully sipped more tea. My Lord's comment had been fairly direct too. "You want to attack Potter in public?"

He arched an eyebrow, which I actually saw due to the mirrored apparatus I'd rigged to my sitting chair's arm. It was quite a fine eyebrow arch, equal parts arrogance, amusement, and dismissal. I found myself mirroring it before I could stop myself, and I noted his gaze chilling to subarctic levels.

That got my face composed in record time. "My apologies, my Lord. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, they say." _And you know my thoughts on you._

The other eyebrow arched with far more fond scorn than the first. "True enough, little squirrel. Back to the business of the Potter boy, then. Public doesn't mean protected. Especially at a Quidditch match."

I nodded. "Especially for a Seeker. Accidents happen all the time. They have to fly so fast, so high..."

_So alone. _Nagini blinked up at me.

I blinked back at her. _When did you start taking an interest in Quidditch?_

She gave the side of my throat a long, lazy lick. _Since now._

Our Lord's voice snapped like a whip. "You can explore your joint familiar bond later. Let's focus on Potter, shall we?"

Nagini and I flinched together. I slid my fingers between her coils and gently stroked the scales there. It helped settle us both. "Something that can be executed at a distance then. With precise timing, because who knows when the right opportunity will present itself…"

"Agreed." His lips tightened in thought. "Suggestions?"

_I could bite him. _

I smiled at Nagini's sincere offer. "In the air, love? Bit tricky to get you up there." I tilted my head. "Time-release venom perhaps?"

Our Lord frowned. "Too many degrees of freedom. Something more direct."

"Mmm, but subtle as well, I suppose. No green-tinged killing curses flying about."

"Quite."

_Bite his broom beforehand? _Nagini shifted so I could stroke the scales closer to her face.

I chuckled softly against her, shaking my head. "Brooms aren't terribly bitable." I paused. "But they're quite hexable. Can we manage something wandless and silent? I know a nice hurling hex that can be deployed fairly quickly, but it requires the standard wand movements and verbalizations."

Phantom fingers slid into my thoughts like a lover's caress, letting grains of glittering spellcraft cascade through them. "The one you know already is quite promising. We simply need to adjust it and practice its casting."

I closed my eyes. "Oh, well that's no problem at all then. We have all of, oh, two hours until the match. Plenty of time to twist a nice little hex into something lethal that can be cast surreptitiously in the middle of a crowd."

"You're fortunate I find your sarcasm amusing, Quirinus." He flicked a spark of intent down my spine that made me tremble for reasons I desperately didn't want to contemplate.

I slumped into my chair, letting Nagini's weight settle against me, the braided thrum of our familiar marks twining together.

Nagini gently licked the side of my face. _I don't know why you say things like that._

I sighed. _Wouldn't want to be bored, I guess._

"Concentrate, Quirinus." There was a knife edge to our Lord's tone. "Show me the hex in as much detail as you can."

I swallowed hard and built the swirling tendrils of it in my mind, colored like a dark oil slick with a dirty rainbow sheen. It had a curiously wavering shape, like a sea anemone now that I looked at it more closely. I drew on Nagini's energy to sharpen the shape of it.

"You see, my Lord?" I murmured. "Difficult to direct appropriately without a wand and words. It needs the wand for a spine and the words for the sting."

His will focused like a scalpel around the spell construct, and I was overwhelmed by the scent of sea salt and tar. The iron tang of blood coated my tongue as he made delicate slices at the tendril tips.

I watched in breathless silence. His deft artistry still hadn't lost its wonder for me. Among other things, he was unmistakably a genius.

His amusement swept across my skin like a winter breeze. "So glad you agree, Quirinus. Those should do for the sting, as you so aptly put it. Now, for the spine…what shall we do, hmmm?"

_Bendy, _suggested Nagini, stretching her body around my arm to demonstrate.

"Yes," our Lord replied, nodding my head for me, "I think that will do nicely."

Nagini preened against me as an infusion of crackling white pierced the innermost tendrils of the hex. The tendrils stiffened, then retracted around the flexible bones.

I sighed in appreciation. If you're going to go screaming off the cliff of dark magic, you might as well get to see some of the sights while you're on the way down. This was a beautiful piece of spellcraft, and no mistake.

Our Lord hummed in pleasure at his creation. "Now, Quirinus, give it a whirl."

I flexed a mote of our collective will, focusing on the wooden hat stand by the entrance. It lifted itself in a delicate pirouette before settling down with the grace of a veela.

We all stared for a moment until our Lord broke the silence. "A touch more aggression this time, hmmm?"


End file.
